


How It Feels to Face a Dragon

by Bow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-27
Updated: 2004-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bow/pseuds/Bow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cho can't seem to leave Cedric behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Feels to Face a Dragon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voleuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/gifts).



When the nights are long, when it's cold and quiet outside, I remember all the wrong things. Wrong because I know the Fletcher Quidditch playbook by heart, while Cedric is slipping away. If I'd known that so many pieces of him would fall out of my memory, I would've stopped the other champions in the Great Hall the morning after it happened.

"You knew him too," I should've said. "Tell me everything you remember--what he whispered to you during the weighing of the wands and how he thought to use the Bubble-Head Charm." But back then I had enough to remember, so I ate my breakfast instead.

If my mother catches me thinking about it, she squints and says, "Chang-Xiaojie, don't frown so hard. Your face might freeze like that."

"Hao le, hao le," I tell her--enough. I haven't believed that since I was five.

***

By the summer, Cedric had already started to spill out of me--dumb little details like what his hair smelled like, and which one of his front teeth was chipped, again? I remember all the wrong things.

So when I heard Fleur was working at Gringotts, I waited on the stoop outside for I don't know how many hours. And for all the questions I had, all the answers I needed, the only thing I could do was slink twenty paces behind her.

She went to the chemist's and the grocer's, and then she Apparated home, and she didn't once look over her shoulder.

That night, it was cold and quiet. I tried to remember what it felt like with Cedric, but all I could think of was the pear she bought at the fruit stand, only the one, and the slight swivel in her hips, the hollow click of high-heels against stone.

***

We ran into the grocer's for safety after we escaped the Death Eaters. Fleur slammed the door shut as one of the survivors shouted Protective Charms to seal the windows, his voice breaking.

Fleur looked surprised to see me, as if she'd never noticed me in the queue at Gringotts, asking about my balance from anyone but her. Her hair had come undone, and her shoes were gone, but the blood on her feet didn't seem to bother her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, and then I realized I should be thinking of Cedric, how maybe he felt like this before he died. I wanted to tell her, then--I had to ask her. Was this what it was like during the First Task? Is this how it feels to face a dragon? Did you think you might drown? Did you want to drown, a little? You look like that, sometimes, you look like you wouldn't mind drowning.

"We need to call for help," I said.

She stared at me for a moment, but then she ran for the fire and I started to seal the door.

By the time it was all over, we were safe and it was pointless to ask how it feels to die. After all, why would you linger on that when you've only just managed to live?

She didn't say goodbye before she left for home. I meant to go home, too, but I just started running. I followed her bloody footprints as far as I could.

The next time I thought about Cedric, it was like he was turning a corner ahead of me, and I couldn't really see him.

***

Fleur waits for me to show up on the Gringotts steps, prim with her hair pulled back and her robes loose for business.

"Is there something you want?"

She has to know, she has to know why I'm here, but she looks sincere, and so I sit on the step and try to think of a way to phrase it that I can get through without crying.

When she sits down beside me, I realize I've got my elbows on my knees, like Cedric used to do. They sat next to each other once, like this, and I watched them from far away. Strange I remember that without even trying.

"I am sorry," she says, and it sounds more like sympathy than pity.

I shake my head. "There are too many new things," I say, willing her to understand.

"There is nothing wrong with new things," she says. "They crowd out old things. Worse things," and she shoots me a smile that's more of a grimace.

Before I can really look at her face, she's standing again. She brushes a hand against the front of her robes, though of course there's nothing on them.

"You may follow me home if you like," she says, and starts down the steps one by one, like a lady should.

***

She pressed the bones in her body up against mine, and just like that, another bit of him shifted out of me.

***

I wake up with someone next to me, and I would be happy except that Cedric used to lay his hand on my shoulder as he slept, and Fleur doesn't.

"What do you remember about Cedric? Anything, tell me anything."

And then it's too late to take it back.

She pauses, and after a moment she smiles anyway, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. "He whistled," she says. "When he figured out which spell he should use. We all knew we had to hurry, if he was whistling."

"I'll lose him." I shut my eyes and wonder whether maybe it was Cedric's eyetooth that had the chip in it. I can recite four Tennyson poems, but I forget how it felt to run my tongue over that jagged corner.

Fleur turns away, feigning drowsiness. There is a freckle where her collarbone meets her right shoulder. I could kiss it with my eyes closed.

I don't.

***

I know how Cedric got past the dragon. That much I remember--I was there, after all. It charged at him and he panicked, cast the first spell he could think of, and ran.

I used to tease him about that. One night out by the greenhouses, I slid my hands under his robes and swore to him I would've found a more elegant solution--you know, Ravenclaw and all.

Now I'm not sure whether I could do better--when things charged at me, I ran too. All the muscles in my face ache, squeezed too tight to let the tears come out. Sure it hurts, but think how easy it would be if I could just freeze like that. Like that. It would be mercy--to be numb and still so things couldn't get any worse--but the world keeps moving.

I buy pears, alone, and eat them on the pitch after practice, when the sun is setting. I don't try to remember anything.

It's a way of moving.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2004 HP Flashficathon. Truly enormous thanks to my more-than-a-beta, sloanesomething.


End file.
